by Mason, V. F.
Copyright © 2021 by V. F. Mason
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Edited by Hot Tree Editing
Cover Design: Sommer Stein
Photographer: Wander Aguiar
Cover Model: Andrew Biernat
To the power of love.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
Santiago’s Conquest Excerpt
Also by V. F. Mason
Acknowledgments
Contact
Prologue
“They say beauty is a curse.
I never believed those words until his wicked eyes captured mine.
For then the gorgeous monster decided to claim me and drag me into his hell.
Where his forbidden desires rule.”
Esmeralda
Esmeralda
Fisting the skirt of my long dress tighter, I rush inside the sliding doors of the airport as my high heels click loudly on the perfectly polished floor.
Instantly, humming fills the air, loud voices merging with one another as countless people run, creating an interesting chaos. I’m reminded of ants gathered around their anthill, trying to get inside before some invisible threat kills them all. Some of the people drag their luggage; others travel light with just a briefcase as a myriad of emotions play on their features, from happiness to pure annoyance, but they all have one thing in common.
Under no circumstances can they be late and miss their flights.
A voice on the intercom reverberates through the terminal and snaps my attention. “Passengers flying to New York, please report to the check-in counter now. It will close in five minutes.”
A distressed whimper slips past my lips at this information. Clutching my heavy skirt tighter, I hurry, my gaze focused on the counter several feet away. The AC billows around me and plasters the veil against my face, making it almost impossible to breathe. Apparently, the tulle, made of the finest material that shimmers in the light, brings attention to the bride’s face. The French designer sent it to me with a personalized note, singing praises to the groom who, according to him, is one of the most magnificent men on this planet.
When, in fact, he’s rotten and despicable from the inside out, a monster who feasts on the flesh of the weak and displays no mercy to those who dare to go against his wishes.
A brown-eyed, charming devil who belongs in hell among the dead sinners, but instead, he’s bestowed his obsession on me.
Shaking my head from the unwelcome thoughts, I gather my courage and focus only on the plane heading to New York.
For in my beloved city, he won’t be able to hurt me as I have power there.
A little girl gasps, pointing a finger at me while several other people spin around to get a better look at the crazy lady running in a ruined dress, but I hardly pay attention to their shock.
When a woman fights against a monster to escape her fate, she doesn’t have time to dwell on what people say or think, because survival is her top priority.
Reaching the counter, I grab the veil and pull it over my head to face the rapidly blinking woman standing behind the counter. Her curious eyes sweep over me, studying the once magnificent, silky wedding dress whose crystal accents reflect the light streaming from above and highlight the dirt smears and edges torn to shreds.
“I need to get on that flight.” I raise my finger in the air as the intercom once again reminds me about the closing check-in and how the plane departs in exactly an hour.
One hour. Sixty minutes. Three thousand six hundred seconds.
Enough time in which the devil himself might come after me, finding a way to trap me in his hell once again, because his power is absolute.
The all-familiar panic envelops me; fear sinks into every bone in my body, creating horrendous images in my mind while my heart thumps in my chest so wildly I’m afraid it might push through the skin and drop on the floor for everyone to see.
The air sticks in my lungs, and I gulp for a deep breath, fisting my hands so tight the nails dig into my palms hard enough to draw blood.
New York. You need to get to New York, and it will be over. Just get on the plane.
The words spoken to myself do nothing to soothe me though and only add gasoline to the fire spreading in my veins at the prospect of my future if this plan fails.
Because the alternative creates devastation and agonizing fear inside me, painting a future of being trapped in darkness with the demon who deems himself the untouchable king of the underworld.
She finally snaps out of her stupor, dropping her gaze to the computer as she types something furiously. “Of course.” She smiles widely, but then her brows furrow. “The only tickets available are in first class.” Regret laces her words when she adds, “We can get you on the next one. It leaves in four hours.”
I barely hold back the hollow laugh wanting to erupt from my throat at the thought of giving two hundred forty minutes to the monsters roaming Chicago to find me and never let me go.
My mom once told me to never engage in a fight with anyone stronger than me, because I’d inevitably lose and end up hurting myself more.
However, her statement proved to be useless, because true strength lies when we are brave enough to go against those who think all their deeds go unpunished.
Besides, death seems like a better alternative than eternal suffering next to him.
Even when the monster declares you are his queen and gives you all the riches in the world, it doesn’t change his nature.
After all, evil will always be a choice, and he drowned in evil a long time ago, sacrificing his soul at the altar of the greed it brings.
“First class is fine.” Before she can ask, I place my ID and credit card on the counter.
She picks it up with one hand while the other continues to type, putting my information in the system. “We have an excellent clothing shop inside the airport,” she says without raising her eyes. “In case you’d like to change your dress.”
“Thank you.” That’s the first thing I’ll do once I have my ticket and go through security. This dress mocks everything that’s holy about matrimony and love, and it causes hives all over my skin, which remind me of the man who proclaims himself invincible because of all the power he holds among the elite… and even the law.
An elite that will side with whatever stupid story he decides to spin in his favor as long as his madness stays hidden from the world.
My family and friends though will stay on my side, and their combined wealth can squash anything he wants to do and put him where he belongs.
Behind bars.
She opens her mouth to add something, when she freezes, her fingers hovering over the keyboard, and she leans closer to the screen, reading something on it. She musters up a fake smile and grabs the phone, dialing a number, as she mumbles to me, “I need to check something before we can finish this. Just a formali
ty.”
Warning bells ring in my ears, alerting me to danger lurking nearby, because he has probably already found a way to block my departure. Stepping back from her, I want to spin around and dash outside to find solitude among the empty streets before coming up with another plan.
Although this one was created out of desperation. What other way would allow me to leave Chicago or even manage to call someone from New York to stop the deadly game? The monster promised me war should I ever dare to reject him!
A man who knows what he wants will always get it, no matter the price.
“Mi amor.” The deep, husky voice addressing me from behind stills everything inside me, blocking out the world around me and dumping me in the vacuum where air doesn’t exist and only fear remains. It glides over my skin like the softest of ropes, causing goose bumps on my flesh and awakening every hair on my body before wrapping tightly around my throat, promising me all kinds of retribution if I don’t listen to the silent command his gentle words represent.
Scrunching my eyes and clenching my skirt, I take a deep breath before slowly turning around to face the devil who ruined my life.
Because he decided I belong to him.
A sinister smile curves his mouth as wickedness settles on his symmetrical features, alluding to forbidden desires swirling around him, bringing attention to his handsomeness that would rival those of Greek gods. There isn’t a woman alive who can resist him, or so people say. The icy coldness filling his brown orbs negates his male beauty though, and it sends shivers down my spine that fill me with discomfort, because unlike everyone else, I know what kind of man he really is.
After all, most monsters wear mesmerizing masks of deceit designed to lure unaware souls into their traps, where they strip the sanity and goodness from their prey, feeding on their desperation and pain.
My feet stay glued to the floor, too afraid to move, because I might just collapse right here, and he would see the weakness slowly pouring into my blood, making me unable to fight against the decision he made when I refused to be tangled in his dark and twisted web.
He steps closer to me, his muscled form towering over me, and I gasp when he circles his arm around my waist and pulls me toward him, bumping our chests together, his masculine tobacco scent twitching my nostrils. “Mi amor,” he repeats, and I wiggle in his hold, trying to get free, but my strength is nothing compared to his.
I hiss, “I’m not your love, you psycho,” and I push at his chest, not caring how the crowd slowly gathers around us and security runs in our direction. “Let me go!”
An amused chuckle makes me want to claw his eyes out.
He catches my chin between his thumb and index finger, digging them into my jaw. “Mi amor, is this how you should treat your husband?”
Hatred sparks inside me, erupting like a volcano and sliding through my veins. I can almost taste the bitterness filling my mouth.
Because, despite my emotions, I cannot argue how he refers to himself—the legal papers state as much.
“I hate you, Lucian.”
“Careful, gatita.” His eyes flash in warning, his hold on me tightens, and I still the groan threatening to slip past my lips. “Wise people say there is a thin line between love and hate.” His hand slides over my cheek, his knuckles grazing my skin in a featherlike caress that makes me nauseous. “And you will cross it, mi amor. Sooner or later.” The heavy footsteps come closer and closer, telling me the security guards are almost here. Maybe they will believe my story over the one this monster possesses, and they’ll find the courage to fight against his power in order to free me.
Hope flourishes in my chest, determination replacing my earlier fear as I decide to use this chance to my advantage, only for the hope to crash and burn when he leans closer, his hot breath fanning my face. He speaks into my ear so no one else will hear his despicable words. “I will never force you, mi amor. However, there are consequences to every choice. Are you willing to risk them?”
Dread rushes over me; familiar and beloved faces flash in my head, reminding me of the various ways this man might hurt me without so much as touching me but instead by focusing his rage on the innocent people whose only crime is being part of my life.
Thousands of crushed dreams, hopes, chances for a better future.
My freedom right now would mean imprisonment of those I hold dear to my heart. How could I live with that?
His revenge wouldn’t be subtle either, but vicious and ruthless in every way, making them all wish they had never crossed paths with me in the first place for all the devastation he would rain down on everyone.
A raspy breath escapes me as a single tear slides down my cheek that his thumb quickly wipes away before he steps back, no longer trapping me in his embrace. Instead, he grips my hand, raises it up, and fishes a ring out of his pocket.
A princess-cut sapphire surrounded by tiny diamonds glistens under the light, showcasing the magnificent, clear stone in all its glory before he slips it on my ring finger, settling his ownership over me.
The symbol of his possession feels unbearably heavy, but I barely focus on that as he presses his lips to my skin, the hotness of his touch burning me. “Bienvenida a mi vida, mi amor.”
Welcome to my life, my love.
My world and heart shatter.
Because a monster disguised as a prince decided to marry me and trap me in his darkness.
Chapter One
“Life should always be about pleasure.
Otherwise, what’s the point of living if we do not enjoy it?”
Lucian
Two weeks earlier
Chicago, Illinois
Lucian
Classical music echoing off the rusty walls greets me as I step inside my dungeon, slightly shaking the bottle of whiskey I have in my grip.
Throwing my head back, I open my arms wide and welcome the energy of doom and desperation sinking into me and awakening every hunting instinct inside me. The familiar scent of fear pollutes the air, coating it in something forbidden and sinister, because inside this place, nothing human remains, and as a result, hope and life do not exist here.
After all, a monster’s hunting grounds are sacred, smeared in blood, and built on the bones of those who were unlucky enough to get trapped in a hell of their own creation.
The devil always collects his dues.
“Who’s here?” a raspy voice coated in fear asks, slightly disoriented, and my gaze shifts to the right.
I walk down the stairs, my leather shoes thumping on the concrete, making the man nailed to the wall tremble harder—to the point of his teeth chattering against each other.
He’s standing naked, his hands splayed wide above his head with huge nails pierced through his palms. Blood drips on the floor as his bare feet rub against each other, leaving red smears on the concrete due to the sharp metal cuffs wrapped around his ankles.
Ah, truly the sight would have been magnificent if only he had more wounds steadily dripping blood and slowly sucking the life out of him.
Until then, he’s like an unfinished painting on a perfectly prepared canvas, promising greatness if only the artist finishes his sketch and transforms it into a masterpiece.
“El diablo.”
His brows furrow at my reply; he blinks a few times, probably trying to adjust his vision to the blinding bright bulb above him, which adds to the gory atmosphere enhanced by water dripping into a sink several feet away. “The devil? What do you mean? Who are you?” He licks his dry lips before shaking his head and continuing to yap. “Whatever you want, I will give you. I have money, power, everything. Just let me go.”
My grip on the bottle tightens, the glass cracking a little as fury shakes my entire body, demanding vengeance for the bragging he just uttered.
Everything inside me screams to grab the nearby gun and shoot him in the head, ending the useless life that shouldn’t have breathed this long anyway, but I restrain myself at the last moment.
Certain p
eople do not deserve a quick, fast death, especially not my victims.
“Francis.” I address the man by his name, or rather a name he was called once upon a time, and he freezes, his heavy breathing suddenly becoming barely audible in the room. “Simpere fuiste un cobarde.”
A man who is born a coward dies a coward too, so his behavior doesn’t really surprise me.
Sweeping my gaze over the rectangular dungeon, I once again admire my little hell, studying the space I personally designed since no one has access to this place but me, despite it being hidden in one of my warehouses.
Various tables holding different torture devices, from my collection of blades to the most expensive poisons found only on the black markets, are spread out.
The true beauty of torture lies in the skill the executioner possesses, transforming a mere killing into an art form for which not everyone has the talent or patience.
Metal chains with collars attached dangle from the ceiling, allowing me to hang the victims if the mood strikes and watch them struggle for breath as the air slowly leaves their rotten bodies and their faces become red and blue.
On the far left is an electric chair. Several feet away, an operating table stands, allowing me to display a twisted kind of torture by slicing the person while he’s awake.
Although, this brand of cruelty goes to only those who most deserve it.
My every depraved desire to inflict the most pain comes to fruition in here. By abusing their flesh so much, death seems like heaven as mortal life entails only agony.
After all, my rules are very simple.
You get what you earned by your actions, and do not cry for mercy when you displayed none through your life.
